


paint your world with my fingers

by Evak2121 (AngAngLove)



Series: gods cry too [6]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: AU, Ballet Dancer!Even, M/M, Nail Painting, Punk!Isak, they're being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 22:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13350591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngAngLove/pseuds/Evak2121
Summary: Isak paints Even's nails.





	paint your world with my fingers

**Author's Note:**

> It's an old one that I've decided to publish.
> 
>  I just want to thank squal for being the most amazing person in the entire world.

* * *

 

 

“It’s funny how bad you are at this.”

 

They were sitting on their yellow couch where so many of their secrets were spilled like the hot sauce on its pillows, and Isak liked the yellow with red (it had nothing to do with the fact they couldn’t afford a new one of course). It wasn’t cold for once, so they were only wearing old t-shirts (both Even’s). It was the first day that month they had nothing to do, so they stayed home with each other, because they missed one another too much.

 

And now, they were sitting on their yellow couch and Isak was painting Even’s nails a warm pink colour (“I don’t even know where I got this colour from, I definitely did not buy it”), because pink made Even’s eyes light up and he was just recovering from one of his episodes and he was just tired. Isak wanted to see him smile, because when Even didn’t smile as brightly as usually, Isak couldn’t either. He needed one smile that would start from one face and end on another.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry you’re moving your hands so much,” if Even hadn’t known Isak he’d have thought he was irritated, but Isak’s face was still warm and familiar. There was so much love, Isak couldn’t even find any place for irritation.

 

Once Isak was done with Even’s hands, he removed Even’s socks.

 

“What are you doing?” Even’s voice quiet and insecure. It was a bad month – he was missing three of his toenails, he didn’t want Isak to see.

 

“Your feet will look even cuter with your toenails painted!” Isak’s smile didn’t find it’s reflection on Even’s face. It still baffled Even, this side Isak didn’t show very often, his walls completely melted. “Wait, I want it to be another colour.”

 

Before Even could react, Isak was already in their bedroom looking for whatever he was looking for. Even looked at his feet – bony, purple, ugly. He touched his toes, they were cold.He could see the hours of practice, hours of twirls, hours of being high on his tiptoes. He could feel the blood under his fingertips, warm and bright red full of oxygen he couldn’t find in his lungs.

 

He could feel his body vibrating, muscles aching after days of pretending everything was alright. His chest felt even tighter with anxiety than when it was wrapped in waves of silk. It was always difficult to breathe. The mantra in his head reminding him to take breaths like steps on the wooden floors when his feet felt like they were bathed in needles, covered in ice cold water. He could feel the bones in his heels poking through the skin, but he couldn’t feel the pain.

 

He was always tired. His eyes too heavy to stare at Isak for more than a few hours; he still could see his face when they were closed. He spent days in their bed pretending to be asleep only to imagine Isak’s face that wasn’t worried all the time. He used a few smiles that he hid inside his fists, away from Isak so he couldn’t see how little he had left. He would hang the grin from one ear to another, stretching it so far his real lips weren’t showing.

 

So he spent days in their bed, with a smile that wasn’t his and Isak’s face behind his eyelids imprinted like ideologies in people’s minds. He had his god and he was worshipping him with his eyes closed. A blinded man that wasn’t scared, because love has enough pairs of eyes collected.

 

And when his chest started to ache too, he would open his ribcage, so the stars behind his lungs could shine and he would show it to Isak and tell him to name all the constellations he could find. And Even would spent hours listening to Isak’s voice that would crack too many times to be fake, watching him count the falling stars that would end up on their sheets lighting up the room, so Isak could easily find his hand in the middle of the night without waking him up, because “Don’t worry, Even. It’s nothing. Just a bad dream”; 3 am wasn’t the time when Isak wanted to be vulnerable. And Even let him, because you have to let Isak decide for himself, let him go at his own pace, let him wonder, let him want; a cat not a person.

 

But for Even, the night was the time when he would open his ribcage, full of stars and pain and a few breaths still fresh enough. There were universes inside of him where his dreams were coming true and those were his life wasn’t his. His mind full of pathways that led to nowhere, roads you sometimes have to take. Pain was good, it helped him concentrate.

 

“I don’t know where I got this colour from either,” Isak’s voice strong and familiar like a hug from someone that cares about you. Even couldn’t see for a moment, but he could feel the warmth that was radiating from Isak. It felt nice.

 

Isak touched his feet once more. They warmed up before Even could see again. Isak’s hands were soft, but careful like wild birds. He was touching him with so much care that Even’s eyes, red and blue mixing together into a weird purple shade that faded into the bags under his eyes, were holding the tears again.

 

Isak grabbed his left foot, fingers digging into its sole. It felt so good that even the rough skin under his toes was tingling with pleasure. He was working his fingers as if he wanted to touch Even’s bones, each nerve treated with respect and love and Even’s eyes couldn’t hold the tears anymore.

 

Isak’s fingers moved to the bridge of his foot, thumbs moving in circles, it almost made Even feel dizzy. He couldn’t stop staring at Isak’s hands dancing on his skin, his fingers still lit up by the stars from the previous night. Warm.

 

“It’s gonna look really cute, Even,” Isak moved his hands from his foot and Even could breathe again. He took the small yellow bottle in his hands, slowly twisting the top. “Mikael is gonna be super jealous, I’m the master of painting nails.”

 

Even took the last breath before Isak touched his foot again. The yellows nail polish didn’t feel as cold as the pink one. He was watching as Isak was coating each toenail in happiness, the smile on his face bigger with every single one. He only had four on this foot. Four was enough right now.

 

It was enough.

 

* * *

 


End file.
